


Given Time

by DaughteroftheCosmos



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: A Wilde Week 2020 (Rusty Quill Gaming), Day 1- Forgiveness, Gen, M/M, Prose Poem, WRITTEN BEFORE RQG 176, bittersweet content within, kind of sad but also kind of not, spoilers for RQG 174
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughteroftheCosmos/pseuds/DaughteroftheCosmos
Summary: it’s not exactlywhat he’s been looking for, really.that is to say:the thought implies he’s been looking at all.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Oscar Wilde, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Oscar Wilde, Heavily implied at least - Relationship, but intended to be romantic, can be read as - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: A Wilde Week 2020





	Given Time

**Author's Note:**

> I have pacific time zone privelege so it's still day 1, fight me :pp
> 
> Hope y'all like this very weird prose poem thing i banged out in about 15 minutes. it just kind of happened like most of the things that i write so i guess i can't complain. comments and kudos always appreciated!!

it’s not exactly

what he’s been looking for, really.

that is to say:

the thought implies he’s been looking at all.

looking at the clouds and shapeless, formless mounds

from high above the ground as they pass him by, maybe.

looking at the people _alive! they’re alive, after so long!_

that pace from here to there across the deck.

looking at the shackles still binding his ankles,

looking at his hands and looking at his fingers and looking as he _snaps-_

and looking as nothing, whatsoever, happens.

but he hasn’t been looking for-

a forest, sunlight casting rays through thick canopies of leaves

like nothing he’s ever seen before,

water rushing through a small, cozy creek.

he sits at its shoreline and tosses a pebble in. it sinks to the bottom

with a _splash_

and it feels like: cause and effect, simplicity like he hasn’t had in years.

a- man. no, not a man. but a friend:

the friend approaches wilde cautiously, 

carefully, and wilde cannot tell (despite the hunter’s pace)

who considers who to be predator, or prey.

or neither, he realizes with a faint air of humor that 

only the unexpected may bring, as grizzop sits next to him

at the water’s edge, lifts a pebble in his claws, considers it,

tosses it in as well with as much care as he does anything else.

“wotcher,” he says, and it shouldn't be a benediction, but it is.

“i- died, then.” says wilde, and grizzop _has_ changed,

because he manages to look almost sad about it.

“guess so,” he replies, and then falls silent. wilde thinks:

 _it’s not what i’m looking for_ , as grizzop then continues:

“you know I forgive you, right? for all the bullshit from before.”

and it shouldn’t be a benediction, but it is.

“i- didn’t know that, no,” wilde says.

“‘course you didn’t,” grizzop cuts in, somehow both sounding

impatient and regretful, “but, you know, I do, so.”

“... thank you,” wilde says, and the sunlight on his face

and the wind through the trees is something he could get used to,

if given time.

but when are men like him ever given time?

a sharp tugging in his chest alerts him that this

will not be any different. and as he 

opens his eyes- his real ones, his own- again to the faces

of his friends _alive, they’re alive, and so is he, yet again_

he knows- there is no time to rest, no time at all,

but there is yet time for memories, and the sound of

a pebble splashing in a stream, and the whisper of

“ _i’ll wait for you”_ on the wind.


End file.
